


Outside, In Front, Inside, Behind

by epiproctan



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Bottom Ren, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Aoba, i guess would be the most fitting tag but it's only for canonical reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/pseuds/epiproctan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clear and Ren spend a lot of time looking for themselves in mirrors, but maybe it's better that they find themselves in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside, In Front, Inside, Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekaiseifuku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/gifts).



> Because every single time my fanfiction soulmate sekaiseifuku mentions liking something I just wanna slam my hands on a table and shout, "I need to write about that!!"
> 
> I actually started this back when Valentine's Day assignments were first announced because I couldn't decide what I wanted to write and I'm so slow ugh

They’ll stand in front of the mirror for hours if Aoba lets them.

He’s caught them both at it before. Even at the same time, too unaware of societal constructs to feel any shame beside the other, staring at their own reflections. Or maybe it’s because they’re both looking for the same thing: a physical identity to assign to their mental one. But they’re looking at different places, at different things. Clear spends his time examining his own face with sharp probing eyes. He takes in everything slowly in an oft-pausing exploration, from his hairline to the moles on his chin, and then goes back and does it over again, twice, three times. Ren, on the other hand, more often searches the entity that is his entire physical being. He’ll stand before the glass (with or without clothes, to Aoba’s annoyance and embarrassment), and search relentlessly.

Aoba’s asked them both before. What they’re doing, and why. And both appear confused, almost startled, by the question. Neither ever gives an answer. Ren has the tendency of glancing back at the mirror once, as though ascertaining that his image is still there, still unchanged, before trotting to Aoba’s side like a puppy expecting to be pat on the head. Clear, on the other hand, never looks back. He might look troubled for a moment, but he picks up the laundry or the mop and continues on with whatever he was doing before the silver of the glass had caught his eye.

Aoba doesn't necessarily think it’s a bad thing. It’s a quirky thing alright, but then again, what about the three of them isn’t? Things have been strange since long before the day that Aoba had come to realize to what extent he loved his Allmate, or himself, rather, or—…well, and adding his brother’s body into the mix certainly hadn’t helped. Now that Clear is around, and Clear _is_ around, almost constantly in fact, quirky might not even begin to cover what their life has become. So who is Aoba to assign any connotation to his companions’ shared habit?

But he does have to wonder. Maybe something’s troubling them. He can begin to understand what, but he can’t help them unless he talks to them about it.

He pushes to stand between them one day as they’re both at it in the bathroom, looking like they somehow wound up there accidentally. Clear is on his left leaning towards the mirror, his nose only inches away from his reflection’s, as he frowns at the pale hairs of his eyebrows. Ren, on the other hand, is standing back a ways, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, glancing between his own forearms and those of his mirror image. Aoba ignores them momentarily and looks at his own reflection. He’s never really felt a disconnect from what he sees in the mirror, not like he imagines that Clear and Ren do. That’s because Aoba’s more or less always been Aoba. He’s always has this same long blue hair and those hazel eyes, at least in his remembrance. He tries to think about what it must be like to not know that the person looking back at him is indeed _him_ , and he can’t, let alone imagining that person being someone else entirely.

But he will try to help.

He turns and takes Ren’s hands. Suddenly, carefully, and though confusion passes over his face, Ren immediately goes limp and allows him control of his motions. For a second Aoba is taken by surprise by how malleable he is. Despite the years of insulation between now and then, Aoba still has an instinctive reaction to certain touches, like being grabbed by the wrist, and they all involve tensing and pulling. He expects the same from others until it occurs to him that when Ren touches him, no matter how or in what context, his own reflex is to relax into it. Ren must be the same, and his trust in Aoba flutters in his chest almost painfully.

“Aoba,” Ren says, curiosity underlining the word, as Aoba brings his hands into the light. They’re big, wider than they were even when Aoba first came to see Ren that glorious day in the hospital. He finds something strange about the way that Sei’s body has morphed and twisted to fit Ren, how something physical could bend to something only existing mentally so easily. But he supposes that Sei had always had that ability. After all, they had both been born with a different natural hair color from what they had now, and pale colorless skin to match. When he thinks about it that way, and how neither of them really should have a color to their hair at all, it’s less strange that Ren’s hair is now growing in thick and fluffy, that his eyes are now a bright gleaming amber and not flat and black, that his fingers are powerful and long when they wrap around his own.

This body, this gift, is his now, and it shows in every single hair on his head and pigment in his skin. And there’s nothing he can do about the scars that crisscross the inside of his arms, but those belong to him as well. They’re an important part of the gift he was given.

“Ren,” Aoba says quietly, tracing his gaze up his chest and to his face. “Is there something wrong with your arms?”

Ren’s not looking at him, though, and instead he’s frowning down towards where his hands are clasped between Aoba’s smaller ones. Aoba doesn’t know what he sees there that’s worth frowning about, but when he considers it, he thinks he can venture a guess.

“It’s…strange, Aoba,” Ren replies.

Their conversation seems to have attracted Clear’s attention, as Aoba can feel him at his back, hovering close to his shoulder, peeking around him.

“What’s strange?” Aoba asks, giving Ren’s hands a comforting squeeze.

Ren takes his time to answer, allowing himself a few breaths before he opens his mouth again. “These arms are…,” he raises his head to look Aoba in the eye, “my arms.”

“Ren-san,” Clear breathes suddenly, squeezing past Aoba to bump up beside Ren. He leans into his shoulder, extending his arm along the length of Ren’s, dragging his fingers lightly against the skin. “Of course these are your arms.”

A long moment goes by where Clear seems to fit himself to Ren’s body, holding himself in close to his side, placing their outstretched arms beside each other and staring, staring, until both seem to conclude at the same time that yes, that is Ren’s arm, and that beside it is Clear’s arm. At this point Clear looks up at Ren, his face unusually serious. He understands something profound about this topic that Aoba thinks he may not even begin to have an idea of.

“Sei-san gave them to you, so of course they’re yours,” he goes on. “They weren’t always yours, but they absolutely are now.” He takes a deep breath and frowns. “You’ve had lots of different arms, haven’t you, Ren-san?”

Ren’s fingers twitch between Aoba’s like he’s using them to count how many arms he’s had, how many bodies and forms he’s lived in, the kinds of eyes he’s seen out of and the kinds of existences he’s held. “I have.”

“These are yours now,” Clear replies definitively, his fingers going to trace gently over a series of particularly raised scars. “These are probably yours forever.”

Aoba, and Clear too probably, knows that just hearing those words probably won’t help him enormously, being the tiny representatives of a sentiment small in the face of his questioning, but maybe if he hears them enough one day he’ll come to accept their truth. Maybe there will come a time when he won’t find the reality of the form he lives in now difficult or feel the need to examine it to learn its appearance and the sensation of it being _his_. But it’s probably important for Aoba and Clear to be there as he works towards that, to be here supporting him and reminding him.

He’s not the only one who needs that, though.

“Then what about this?” Aoba asks, and pulls Ren’s hands up towards Clear’s face, and places them on either side. Ren’s gaze rises up until he’s staring Clear in the eyes, his fingers relaxing against the synthetic skin, his thumbs rubbing over the roundness of his cheeks. He draws closer, scrutinizing it with the same expression as Clear had been doing himself only moments ago. Clear averts his eyes, as though he doesn’t want to see how Ren will react to the curves of his face, to his nose and his lips and his fair eyelashes, despite the months he’s already spent without his mask in his presence.

Aoba expects Ren to kiss Clear when he leans in, but instead he pokes his tongue past his lips and drags it up the tip of his nose before nuzzling their faces together, nudging his chin against Clear’s. Aoba can’t see either of their expressions, but he does hear the breath leave Clear’s lungs in a soft _hah_ , as though he’s relieved that Ren didn’t turn away. Ren’s hands slip down to his neck as he rubs his face on Clear’s, brushing their cheeks against each other, pushing his nose into his hairline, sliding his thumbs across his jaw.

“Your face is good,” Ren reminds him, and _now_ he goes in for the kiss, holding his head steady with fingers on his jawline as he brushes their lips together and then opens his mouth for more. It’s slow and intimate, with Ren leaning down, his body close in almost protectively, tilting his head so that they fit together seamlessly, and Clear is open and accepting, following along with the lead of Ren’s lips.

They’re sharing some private and warm, and Aoba considers leaving the room. Ren and Clear can help each other. They can probably help each other way better than Aoba can, without any understanding of what it’s like to be contained in a body that you can’t connect with, to be stuck in skin that doesn’t feel like it’s completely your own. They can relate in a way that Aoba can’t.

He takes a half-step back towards the door, watching the two of them fold in on each other, but his foot scuffs on the floor as he does. Clear hears and breaks away from the kiss, languid to sharp in a snap, eyes wide and pinpointing Aoba. Ren holds him, rests his temple against his forehead, follows his gaze to Aoba’s face. They’re both looking at him like he’s the sunrise after a long cold night, and something about that makes his heart feel oddly ticklish and his stomach heat up pleasantly.

“I love you.” The confession slips out of his mouth before he’s even aware of the thought enough to blush, but he has every desire to persist and say what he needs to say. “Everything about you. With or without the body that you’re in. But them too, because they’re part of you.”

Immediately, Clear’s eyes are wide and wet, and he’s pulling out of Ren’s hold with a quietly emotional, “Aoba-san!” He crashes into Aoba and envelopes him in his arms, crushing him against his chest, and they stumble backwards together. Aoba catches and steadies himself on the doorway before they can topple to the ground in the hall, and Clear is all around him, Clear is everywhere, all soft white hair and strong warm limbs.

“I love you, Aoba-san,” he breathes into his hair. “Thank you.”

And before Aoba can begin prying himself out of the suffocating hold that’s on him, Ren is there too, and Ren is on both of them, drawing them carefully into his arms. Aoba’s pressed up into his chest, and he can smell his soothing scent, and feel the three of them all breathing against each other, out of sync but _together_.

It takes them a spectacular amount of time to get to the bedroom, caught up in each other’s limbs as they are, but after some tripping and shuffling they get there and not too much further. They all seem to have the same idea in mind and it involves getting under each other’s clothes very soon, and so they do. Something about being so cognizant of their bodies has them already wanting, and shoved up against the back of the closed door, Aoba suddenly finds himself with his fingers grabbing for the doorjamb to keep himself grounded as Clear drops to his knees before him, then without much prelude takes him down as far as he can go.

Not too long later Ren stumbles over to them with a bottle of lube in hand, but before he can do anything with it, Clear takes it from him, spreads some over his pale bare fingers. He doesn’t even remove Aoba’s cock from his mouth as he sits up forward, relocating a hand beneath him, and Aoba can’t see from here but he knows from the way he can feel Clear’s initial shudder up through into his own body that he’s opened himself. If the light, wanting sound Ren makes, somewhere between a hiss and a gasp, is any indication, Aoba’s not the only one whose ability to breathe has been adversely affected by this turn of events.

Entranced by Clear’s movements, it takes Aoba a long moment to feel embarrassment about being watched to bubble up, but when it does it boils over strong. He reaches out for Ren, who reaches back, and they rush to lock their mouths together, Ren pushing his shoulders back against the door. A buzzing seems to flood through Aoba and he can’t hold it in, so he moans into Ren’s mouth, heavy with the feeling of Clear’s lips around him and Ren’s hands on him.

There’s a slick sound and Ren inhales sharply.

“Ren-san,” Clear says, popping his mouth off Aoba’s cock. “Can I touch you here?”

Aoba doesn’t have to see to know that Clear’s fingers have trailed up the back of Ren’s thighs, are probably tracing teasing wet circles around parts of his body Aoba would rather not have Clear talk out loud about.

“Yes,” Ren breathes, resting his cheek against Aoba’s forehead, gripping his shoulders firmly in anticipation. He absolutely melts against him when Clear wriggles in, and Aoba reaches his hands out to support him, holding him by the hips until he seems to have control enough of his panting to fit their mouths together again. But when Clear’s lips return to where they were around Aoba, it’s him whose knees can’t seem to function as well anymore, and he presses his fingertips into Ren’s hipbones to stay upright. Clear’s tongue and the back of his throat are the kind of magic that’s real and exists in the world.

The next thing that Aoba’s acutely aware of through his pleasured haze is how Ren trembles when Clear adds another finger, and then how it’s actually the whole room that seems to be shaking when Clear swallows around him, and all he can do is dig his nails into Ren’s skin and hold on for dear life. But before he knows it, they’re all in motion again, Ren breaking away from Aoba as Clear climbs to his feet, Aoba stepping back as Clear leans in to share a kiss with him and then with Ren. And Ren accepts him, hands cupping his face, and pulls him in close, until Clear, apparently unable to stand it anymore, twists away and regards Ren with hot glassy eyes.

He clenches and unclenches his hands eagerly into fists with the energy of his want, and then moves forward again and effortlessly hoists Ren up by the thighs, tossing him lightly back against the wall. And in response Ren grasps at him with his entire body, his legs wrapping around his waist and dragging his hips closer, his arms about his shoulders, pulling their bare chests flush. He lowers his head against Clear’s neck and needily sinks his teeth in, growling his name into the junction of his throat and his shoulders. Clear moans as he does, wild and airy and high and long, like Ren is digging into something weak and famished inside of him. Clear casts his gaze over his shoulder as he grabs at his erection, as he lines himself up against Ren.

“Aoba-san,” and he gasps as he pushes in, shoving slowly up against Ren, “I need you.”

An embarrassed sigh streams through Aoba’s lips, but not even his embarrassment can hide the throbbing in his hips. He sidles up behind Clear, and Ren unhooks his ankles, letting himself be supported by Clear’s arms and his back against the wall, giving Aoba access to all of Clear. Pressing his front to him, Aoba feels his damp skin sliding against him, his heat, surprisingly real, seeping through his skin. He lays his hands over Ren’s thighs and rubs them, taking note of the way his muscles are clenched uncomfortably as Clear inches forward into him. He trails his fingers down along his leg, ending up with his hand squarely on the flesh of Clear’s ass. A pang of mischievousness passes through him as he smirks and gives a sharp squeeze, the kind that Clear would normally give him if their positions were reversed. It’s revenge, he thinks as Clear jolts in response with a breathy, laughing, “Aoba-san,” and Ren gasps and bites his lip, eyebrows low over dark and heated eyes.

Aoba’s hand continues, finds Clear’s entrance and finds it already loosened and slick with lube. He snatches the bottle off the ground anyway, coats his fingers, slips them around the outside in tight circle before pushing two in. Clear accepts them easily, even as Aoba twists and bends them, and gives a small choked moan, driving back onto his fingers and then snapping forward, a first thrust into Ren.

Admittedly, Aoba wants that too.

He has to raise himself up on his toes a bit to reach well, but from how hard his heart is pounding and how Ren’s rhythmic grunts are shaking him in the most electric way, he doesn’t think it’s going to be too long anyway. He can only get half of himself into Clear because of their height difference, but when his head passes inside, Clear stills to let Aoba move. Ren’s resulting whimper is low and feral and he reaches out and grabs Aoba by the wrist. Begging. Aoba can see it in his eyes when he looks up and falls into them, his stomach lifting with the affection that strikes through him. But then Clear is moving again, thrusting up hard into Ren and driving back onto Aoba, and the three of them make sounds that fall into heavy sweet layers in the quiet room.

They’re not at this long before they’re slipping, and they can barely gather the self-control to pause and rearrange to land in a pile on the ground, Ren on the floor with his shoulders propped up against the wall, Clear hunched low between his thighs, Aoba on Clear with his arms wrapped around him as though clinging for dear life. It feels that way, a little bit, like his entire existence depends on holding onto these two, anchoring himself to them, and with that thought in mind he jerks forward again, driving himself far deeper inside Clear than he could before. This feels like stars are being born in his veins and he’s drowning in their fire. And his moving into Clear causes Clear to move into Ren and Aoba feels like he’s connecting with both of them, feeling them inside out, and both their bodies are theirs and his and his belongs to them too.

“See?” Aoba says, his breath hitching. “There’s nothing wrong with your bodies. They’re— _ahh_ —they’re _you_.”

He hopes vacantly that his message comes across, he hopes they know that the pleasure that they give him and each other is only possible through these physical forms that they have. He can’t formulate those words right now though, not with the feeling searing through his body, and that’s okay. He thinks they’ll understand, and they seem to, because Ren is pressing his lips to whatever parts of Clear’s face he can reach, and Clear is holding Ren so tight that Aoba worries briefly that he’ll break, but the only thing that breaks is his voice as he shouts out his pleasure. And Aoba gets the joy of hunching over the both of them, driving this feeling into these bodies, feeling as they all move together.

Clear is just about weeping their names, compounding them together into a long string of praise for them. And Ren’s falling to pieces, fingers scrabbling on the hard floor to gain purchase on _something_ , head lolling and bobbing as he’s thrust into, eyes closed, toes curling. And Aoba, Aoba cries out with every thrust that he gives, voice rising to his mouth with how strong this feeling is, uncontainable and unbearable. It builds and builds until he knows he won’t be able to take it anymore any moment now, until it feels like it’s tightening in him so densely he could snap. Clear is tight and hot around him and it’s rising up in him, this uncontrollable and ferocious _need_.

He’s loud when he comes, his moan almost a wail, and he thrusts through it erratically even when he can’t even feel himself anymore because all he knows is this release overwhelming his senses. Everything’s a blur and so much is happening and he’s lost somewhere fantastical, amazing. But he’s aware enough of Clear tightening around him, Ren grabbing onto him with some frantic, animalistic desperation, and in this moment he can only feel incredible and thankful.

Aoba falls back, chest heaving, and wipes the sweat from his forehead before his arms collapse limply at his sides. He can’t will any of his muscles to move further for a long moment, drenched as he is in a heavy, viscous glow. He’s content to lay on the floor as the rooms spins until Clear leans down over him and scoops him up into his arms and then places him down gently on the bed. Ren crawls up in next to him, nuzzling into his neck and gathering him to hold him tight. And then Clear’s weight is on the bed too, and it’s the three of them, their three bodies, as they always are.

He’s drifting, Aoba realizes, soaking in the warmth that’s radiating from his lovers’ skin. He doesn’t mind.

“Ren-san,” he hears Clear saying, “I love that part of you is Sei-san too. Like Aoba-san said, I love every part of you.”

“Clear,” Ren breathes, low and deep and thoughtful. “I love every part of you as well.”

Aoba’s eyes are closed, and he’s thinking about bodies. Something about how grateful he is that these two, these two _humans_ beside him, wherever they came from, have them.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I could probably go into this concept a lot more but I'll leave it here for now. I hope it was enjoyable.........


End file.
